Songs of Healing
by Hawksister Cat
Summary: A collaberation by Hawk-Sister and Cat McDougal. Allen's always wanted to be a Healer, but what he wants and what he gets might turn out to be two different things. Chap 1 reposted
1. Default Chapter

_The wheat had finally ripened, and the adults were out with their scythes in the cool autumn air. Too young to help, the seven year-old Allen played Companion for his baby sister, Carlie. Then he heard a pained shout from the field. Surprised, Carlie dropped off. He put her in the house, told her to be good, and ran off to find the shouter._

_The people who had been working nearest to the man had already gotten to him, and one of the younger boys was racing to the village. A few moments later, he reappeared, tailed by a green robed man. The Healer! Allen looked at the man's leg. It was all covered in blood, but he thought it just looked messy, not bad._

_The Healer arrived and proceeded to briskly wipe all the blood off of the leg, then doused it in anticeptic. He regarded it for a few moments, then declared that the scythe had missed any major muscles or arteries. The surrounding crowd heaved a sigh, he would not be crippled. Then the Healer frowned in concentration, and Allen saw the little muscles and viens start to knit together. _I want to be a Healer when I grow up, _Allen decided._ I want to help people. I'll tell mum tonight so she knows to take me to Haven when I get older.

***

That was Allen's clearest memory as he sat in the cart on the way to Haven, the day he had decided to become a Healer. And now he was finally going to fufill that dream. Oh, yes, he had already gotten training from the village Healer, but the man kept saying that if he really wanted to be taught, he should go to Haven. His clothing bag bounced every time the cart hit a bump, but Allen wouldn't let the other bounce. It held a gittern.

Allen couldn't remember where the gittern had come from, or who had given it to him. It had appeared on his eighth birthday, long after he had already decided to become a Healer. He had kept it anyway, as a hobby, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to use it. He was not minded to have the beautiful thing break, so he kept it in his lap.

The soothing pinging sound of the rain spattering on the cart and the clothes bag bouncing on the floor, combined with the clip-clop of the horses' feet reminded Allen of a jig, and he smiled to himself, imagining his sister dancing to it. Carlie probably would, too. The twelve-year-old had no sense of shame.

The trader called from the front for Allen to get up there, so he hung the gittern on a side hook and clambered out, clutching a cloak tight under his chin. The spring rain was _cold_, and the city guard standing in front waved them by, obviously intent on getting back into the shelter of the tent. 

Allen supposed that Haven looked better when it wasn't water-drenched, but it still was an awe-inspiring sight. The buildings were tall and narrow, and roads twisted and wound. He was glad that, as a Healer-trainee, he probably wouldn't be leaving the Collegia much, and almost certainly not without someone else.

The Palace walls. They were huge! He had never seen anything to match them for size! The trader stopped there, he had no buisiness inside the Palace, and wished to get on with his own. Allen thanked him and went to the gate. "Sir?" he asked the guard. "I've come to enroll as a Healer.' He too waved him in, but stopped him just inside. 

"Go to the Palace and follow the wall. Go to the building with a lot of green and the big gardens in front of it. And of course, the Healing sign." Once he had gotten in the Palace walls, it was a choice between having water drench his back or hair. Opting for the one that would dry faster, he let the hoodless cloak slide down, all the time covering the gittern.

"Thank you." The sixteen year-old blond trudged on through the rain. 

***

Shiron hummed happily. He had finally finished that song assignment, and Glenwith had taken it, with a slight reprimand to get it done on time the next time. He knew she didn't mean it though. So long as a student handed in the work, the day after at the latest, Glenwith would never get angry.

He looked up, hearing footsteps in front of him. Most people might not have heard it, whoever it was was softfooted, but his sensitive ears had always heard people before he saw them. 

The person was probably his age, or at least, they matched Shiron's five-foot six. Nearly shoulder-length gold-blond hair hung in their face, so no facial features were noticeable, but he was fairly sure it was a boy. No girl would be sixteen and flat, or at least, not so far as he knew. Then he saw something that made him smile widely. The boy clutched a gittern in his right hand.

"Hello there," Shiron called. "Come to enroll in Bardic?" The person looked up, the wet hair falling back to reveal a stubborn chin, proud nose and bright green eyes. _Gods he'll look good in Scarlets,_ Shiron thought absently.

"No," the boy said with some confusion, but mostly satisfaction. "I've come to enroll in Healer's."

Shiron stared. His Bardic Gift was telling him that the boy wasn't lying, but why would somebody like him, positively radiating Bardic Gift, want to go to Healer's? Could he not know? "Ah," he finally managed. "I mean, I saw the gittern and…"

The other smiled. "It's a hobby." A Healer who played a gittern?

"Well, if you ever get lonely over at Healer's," he said genially, "just come over to Bardic and ask for Shiron."

"I'm Allen," the blond replied.

"Healer's is right down that path there," he added helpfully. "Takes you right to the door."

"Thank you." He continued on down the path. Once he was out of sight, Shiron took off at a run to Bard Raith's study. If he had anything to do about it, Allen wouldn't be spending much time there.

***

The guard had been right. There was an enormous garden in front of the Healer's Collegium. He walked in and looked around. It was a sparsely decorated room, tiled in cool green and painted green-white. A room designed to soothe. A burly green-dressed man entered the room and looked askance at Allen.

"Can I help you?"

"I've come to enroll at Healer's collegium," Allen said proudly.

"I don't know if we can," the Healer said, almost - regretfully. "Normally we would take you, even though you have no Healing Gift, or at least, only in potential, but –" Allen didn't care that he didn't have the Gift. He had decided to become a Healer, and he would, even if only an herb-Healer. But before he could say that, the Healer was interupted.

A magestic red-robed figure strode in, somehow dry brown hair flapping in the wind. 'What's he doing _here_?' the figure asked. 'The boy has Bardic Gift!'

_Bardic Gift? What did Shiron say about me?_


	2. ch 2

Allen found himself now sitting in an office he hadn't expected to be in. When he'd come to Haven it had been to become a Healer. Yet here he was sitting in the office of the dean of _Bardic_ Collegium. The room was crammed with books, scraps of paper with odd notes on them and many different types of instruments, most intact, but not all. Allen sat there, his clothing bag at his feet, his gittern held carefully in his lap. The dean wasn't here right now. After depositing him here, she'd gone off to see to something, saying she'd be back shortly. 

The door behind him opened, startling him. He quickly grabbed the gittern he almost dropped. "So," the dean said as she came to sit behind her desk. She folded her long-fingered hands in front of her and looked at him with sharp black eyes. "You came to be a Healer and instead find yourself dragged into Bardic. Must be quite a shock, eh?"

Allen only nodded silently. He could feel his wish of becoming a Healer drifting farther and farther away. Still, a Bard? At least his parents would be proud. And Carlie would be ecstatic. She'd love having a Bard for a brother.

"Still, my boy, we can't let one with your talent get away from us." Allen only nodded again silently. He couldn't see it as a Gift yet. "So now we need to know just what we need to teach you."

So followed an hour of intense questioning about his school and background. Several times she tsked and shook her head but overall she looked a bit pleased. Allen tried his hardest not to squirm during the interview. He still wasn't really sure that this was happening. His dream of being a Healer was gone.

Finally the dean sat back and looked done. "I know this is not what you wanted, Allen," she said kindly. "However I have a feeling this is where you were meant to be. Do you have any questions for me?"

Allen thought for a moment, knowing this might be his only chance to ask these questions of her. "I thought that you had to have two Gifts to become a Bard. What other Gift do I have?"

She sat back for a moment, looking thoughtful. "I can sense your Bardic Gift. It's probably what made you a good Healer, being able to sense emotions. I will have to hear you play to decide which other Gift you have. Quite frankly I suspect it's the Creative Gift. You always just pick out tunes, is that so?"

Allen nodded, now numb. He had always just picked out tunes on his gittern rather then play tunes already well known. But it was just a hobby…

He stood and followed her when she told him to do so. The dean pointed out many things as she led him down the halls. He barely noted the things she showed him. Many others about his age walked past them. Some were in the well know Gray of a Heraldic Trainee. Others wore blue. The Bardic students all wore a rust-brown color. Then the last group made his heart clench. They wore the pale green he had expected to be wearing right now.

Many smiled at him as he was led down the halls, following the dean like a well-trained dog. Finally she came to a particular room and stopped. She opened the door revealing a room obviously meant for him to live in. Probably to share, there were two beds, two desks, each on opposite sides of the room. He trudged in and placed his bag of clothes on the bed. The dean looked around and smiled. "Your roommate…"

"Is already here with food." A laughing voice said behind her. She turned with a laugh to let the boy, Shiron, whom he'd met coming into the grounds, past her and into the room. He scooted past her in the small room, balancing a jug and a tray full of food. Allen moved to grab the tray and set it down on the table between the two beds. "Don't worry dean, I'll get him settled and show him around."

Again she laughed at the boys' exuberance. "Alright Shiron, I'll trust him to your care. I'll have a schedule ready for him in a little while. Be sure to bring him down to get it, alright?" Shiron nodded and the dean left the two boys alone.

Shiron pointed to one of the dressers. "Go ahead and put your clothes away. Then we'll eat and get you some clothes; you'll need robes of course and then we can do as you want for the rest of the day. I have the day free and will gladly show you around. But we do have to get you assigned for chores." Now Shiron grimaced comically. "Hate them but we have to do them."

Allen shrugged, not really caring. His dream was gone, everything else was just peripheral. He sadly put his clothes in the dresser, not really listening to what Shiron was saying. He took out his gittern so that it lay gently against the wall. He stroked the outer casing gently, thinking to himself. _ A Bard,_ he thought. The idea brought no joy to his heart. _I'm going to be a Bard. I've always wanted to be a Healer, ever since I was a child. Yet here I am on my way to becoming something so very different._

Shiron watched his new roommate stare sorrowfully at the gittern. The black haired boy didn't know anything he could say that would make Allen's heart a bit lighter, but he knew he should. Then he remembered what one of the MindHealers had said one time when he had been playing to calm a fretful child that had been burned badly by an abusive father. "We Healers heal the mind and the body. But a Bard, a true Bard, Heals something we cannot: the soul." He knew it would be the right thing to tell Allen but not right now. Right now he had to immerse Allen into the Collegium. Once he was in and the pain had dulled a little, then he would tell him. So time to take care of several things. With that thought in mind he jumped off his bed. 

"So, you hungry?" Allen only shook his head again, still not speaking. "Alright then, lets get you signed up for chores and get you some clothes." Silently Allen followed Shiron out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

~~~~~~~~

It was only an hour later that Allen was dressed, not in the pale green of a Healer Trainee, but in the rust-brown that all Bardic Trainees wore. He plucked at the robes he now wore, not really caring for them. Nothing was turning out the way he had thought and he wasn't quite sure he liked it. Sullenly, the lanky blond flopped down onto his bed, covering his eyes with an arm.

Shiron looked at Allen and sighed. Most would be thrilled to be accepted into _any_ of the Collegia, let alone being told that Healer's would gladly take him but being put into Bardic because of his Gifts. Now would be the time to tell Allen what he had learned. "Allen?" He asked softly. The other boy removed his arm and looked at Shiron. "There's something I think you should know. I know you didn't come here to be in Bardic but you _can_ do good." Now he had Allen's attention. "I once heard a Healer tell another Healer this: 'We Healers heal the mind and the body. But a Bard, a true Bard, Heals something we cannot: the soul.' Being a Bard wearing red is not the same, but Bards are a type of Healer." With that Shiron closed his mouth, not wanting to say anything to counter the positive effect that last had seemed to have, and began to read a book on his own bed.

Allen lay on his own bed thinking about what the other boy had said. In his heart he had always wanted to be a Healer. Yet what Shiron had to say felt right. It struck a cord in Allen's heart that reverberated with truth throughout his own soul. He glanced over at the gittern he'd placed so carefully in the corner. He put his hand out and brought it to his lap as he sat up on his bed. With careful hands, he unpacked the gittern and quickly tuned it. He closed his eyes and began to pick out a tune that felt right to him, missing the smile that played over the face of his roommate.

~~~~~~~~

Allen sighed quietly, the peace that had covered him when he had played sweeping away. Maybe Shiron was right, maybe he was meant to be a Bard. _No,_ he decided. _If I had been meant to be a Bard, why would I have wanted to be a Healer? This wouldn't be a prank, would it? No, the Healers, at least, wouldn't do a thing like that. So then… I'm dreaming, that's it. I'm still in the cart and I've fallen into a silly dream in which I become a Bard. That doesn't even happen in songs, people get Chosen in songs._ Just to prove it, he pinched himself.

"Ouch!"

"Are you alright?"

"Fine…" Shiron's body posture screamed disbelief, but he had the sense not to ask. If his roommate wanted to tell him, he could tell him in his own time. Till then, he could wait.

__

It would seem, Allen thought, slightly amused at himself, _that I am _not_ dreaming._


	3. ch 3

Okies- This is the story by Hawk and me... Cat.

So Quick disclaimer.. We own nothing Lackey owns it all.

Chapter 3

The years of Bardic education flew by for Allen, crammed with histories of Valdemar and it's surrounding neighbors, general instrumental lessons and another for a chosen instrument (his was the gittern). Then there were composition lessons, Bardic Gift lessons and even the occasional weaponry lesson. After all, a Bard couldn't always count of Bardic immunity, especially when he was out of the Valdemaran regions. He quickly progressed to the level of Journeyman.

Searching through the library one sunny afternoon, the complete opposite of the one in which he had joined Bardic Collegium; Allen noted a small band of brown. He pushed aside the books that were resting in front of it and reached back to grab it. It was a small dust covered thing, and he brushed the dust off in a vain attempt to find a title. Instead he ended up coughing and sneezing inside a huge dust-cloud. Once it cleared he carefully brushed off the dust that had settled on him, then off the surrounding furniture. He looked around to make sure he hadn't disturbed anyone.

Across the room, around a table, sat several Blues quietly arguing over a problem. Near them a Herald Trainee sat immersed in what looked to be a very dry book on laws. How they could find any excitement in those things, much less concentrate for more than a few moments was beyond him, but that wasn't his problem. Allen settled himself a bit deeper into the armchair and opened the book, raising another cloud of dust. Once the air cleared enough for him to see the writing on the page he groaned softly. This was an old book all right. The writing was faded. It would make it hard to read. The writing was also spidery. It probably would take him forever to read through this book.

Allen now regretted his choice of subjects for his next composition. When he'd decided on writing a historical piece it had seemed a good idea. Since entering the library however, he was finding that all the amazing history that all children - and the Bardic trainees - learned in their mandatory lessons were actually very small periods of time. It seemed that the history of Valdemar was full of long periods of dry as the dust that had coated this book, years from which the only heroic ballads could be about the heroic happenings of the past, interspersed liberally with short periods of time (a few months, or, if he was really lucky, maybe a couple years) of heroic deeds, exciting moments and happenings worthy of Bardic attention.

The problem was all those things had been written and sung about excessively. He wanted something almost unknown in this day and time. He wanted to find something buried deeply within the chronicles of history that had not been written about much and certainly had no compositions attached to it. He knew it was here; he just had to keep looking. He also knew that Shiron thought he was completely insane for looking for something exciting that had never been sung before.

Time passed as he worked his way through the hard to read book. He didn't realize just how long he had been sitting there until a Healer Trainee tapped his shoulder. Rubbing tired eyes, he looked up at the young woman. "Are you Allen?" She asked softly. When he nodded, she sighed heavily. "Thank the Havens! Healer Rafella asks you to come quickly." The Trainee was now pulling on his arm. He grabbed his bag and held tightly to the book, scared that if it fell to the floor it would crumble into a pile of dust. He stuffed it in his bag as he was dragged down the hall.

"What does Rafella need me for?" he asked, breathlessly trying to keep up with the shorter - but much faster - woman. 

"She has a patient that she hopes you'll be able to calm. Beyond that she didn't say." With that the young woman deposited him outside a room in Healers and scrambled off, probably with another message to deliver. From inside the room he could hear the sobs of a broken hearted soul, sobs of grief, of total loss and agony that wrenched his own heart as he listened. It was sobs like those that he had wanted to be a Healer to prevent. He waited outside, knowing Rafella would come out in only a moment. He stuffed the book into his bag and took out his gittern and began tuning it.

Sure enough just as the gittern caught its usual tone, Rafella came out of the room, shaking her head worriedly. She spotted him quickly. "Thank you Allen," she said tiredly. "I need your help with this one." 

Allen nodded; glad he could be of assistance. "The young woman inside she, she was," the Healer stumbled over the words in her anger, "beaten and raped repeatedly. She was lucky that one of the Empathetic Heralds caught on to this. No one even has any idea how long this might have been going on for. It wasn't the first time, though; I can tell you that, not from the way she's reacting. They, whoever they are, have got her convinced that she's downright worthless. I'd give her something to put her out but I'm afraid to. People in trauma generally don't react well to these kinds of things." 

Allen nodded. His Healer training that he'd received before coming to Haven still served him well and gave him an idea of what she might need. "If you could think of something to calm her, while I fetch the MindHealer.?"

Allen put his hand on her arm. She was babbling, and she only did that when she was very nervous about one of her patients. "Rafella have I ever denied you?" The Healer stopped talking and took a deep breath, smiling wearily at Allen. "You do what you need to. I'll see what I can do about calming the poor woman." Rafella patted his hand and walked away, sure she had left her charge in good hands. 

Allen took a deep breath and began picking out a soothing rhythm on the gittern before he attempted to enter the room. It was a simple enough tune that he could play parts of it one handed, and that was vital in this case. He knew that the last person she would want to see would be a man, especially one moving towards her. One thing he'd learned was that often if they heard the music before they saw him they often _didn't see_ him. Sure enough, by the time he had closed the small room's door the woman had calmed slightly and was crying softly staring out the window.

He had no idea why anyone would do something like that to another being. He hd learned in his helping the Healers that the main reason behind the rapist's actions was a desire for control that was lacking in their own lives. It was probably that sense of control, control and power that had driven whoever it was to do this to the young woman.

Even knowing the reasoning, though, it still made him sick to think that anyone would do this. The girl was pretty, with brown hair and soft brown eyes, but she couldn't have been more than sixteen. She was probably from Haven, judging from her clothing, and the wear and condition suggested that she wasn't

of the middle class. No, it was most likely that her parents ran a small buisiness of some sort and she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Allen kept up his soothing, soft tune until the young woman's breath came deep and even, signaling her fall into slumber. How many times he had played it, or something like it, he didn't know. Too often, that was for sure. He put away his gittern and stretched his neck and arm muscles, not wanting them to cramp up the next day, then left the room softly, leaving the woman sleeping. He met Rafella and the MindHealer walking towards the room and nodded to Rafella in answer to her questioning look. With another nod he left them both and headed outside.

The spring air had warmed nicely, drying the last of the puddles from the recent rainstorm. It had been a furious one, though nowhere near the one that had broken once he had enrolled in Bardic. Allen breathed deeply of the fragrant air, savoring the fresh spring smells; the warm grass, the first few flowers, and the occasional colder smell when he walked through the Palace's shade. With a sigh of happiness he headed towards the Grove. It had become a place of refuge. Somehow being there, in that place of mystical energy, inspired him, as if he could feel the magic of the place skittering along his nerves. At first it had made him wonder if perhaps he didn't have a latent Mage-Gift. He chuckled to himself as he let himself into Companion's Field. Heralds were more needed than Bards, if he did have that Gift, or any other Gift, for that matter, a Companion would most likely have Chosen him by now. 

__

Wouldn't that be just like me, though? Coming to Haven to become a Healer, then being told I have to become a Bard, then, when I get to Journeyman, I get Chosen by one of our honored white horses.

As usual, none of the 'honored white horses' paid him any mind. He scratched one foal that came over to investigate this new creature in its world and nodded to both Groveborns. He ambled through the Field, whistling a random tune, picking his way over the occasional stone. Once in the Grove itself, he found a comfortable spot and sat with his back against one of the ancient trees. The falling sun coated everything that it reached, though it wasn't all that much, thanks to the thick trees, with a pinkish glow. 

His bag sat oddly next to him. He went to move it and noticed its weight finally. With his eyebrows crinkled in confusion, he began rooting through the bag, wondering what could have caused the weight. Finding something hard, he grasped it and pulled it our, finding the book he'd been looking through when the Trainee had found him. He sighed, knowing that he would get into trouble for taking it out of the Library eventually. Those librarians could be downright vicious when one of their books was in danger. Right now, though, he was going to enjoy what was left of the day and read here in the Grove. 

He opened the book to where he'd left off. The better light did not improve the scrabbled writing by much. He started reading the words again. He came to a page containing notes and pulled his gittern around to rest on his lap. With squinting eyes he played the notes haltingly the first time through. When he had a feel for the music he began mouthing the words along with the notes. When he was sure he had the words memorized, he allowed his tenor singing voice to join his fingers. It was a strange tune, like none of the others he had learned in class. Perhaps it was one that had come from some other place, like Jkatha, or maybe even further south.

Around him the Grove stirred. A breeze began threading among the leaves over his head, and even the ever present chirping of the birds was stilled. There was no sound, none but the music he was creating. He could feel the Power of the place gathering around him, causing his neck to prickle, and wondered just what was going on.

As he reached the end of the song, he felt something solidifying around him. When he let the last note go, it hung on the air, echoing slightly. Without another sound, Allen fell into the black void the words and tune had opened, losing consciousness as he went. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

R&R folks.. You know the drill!!!!


	4. ch 4

"You touch him!" The little voice penetrated Allen's fogged brain, but his only reaction was to try to go back into that blessed blankness, which – at least – didn't have shrill voices telling people to touch other people.

"Not me! You touch him!" The other voice was bit mellower, signifying an older child.

"Mom's gonna be mad." The smaller one said, in a warning tone of voice. Allen really didn't want to move but those voices sounded odd to him. He also wondered – as well as his fogged brain would allow him to – what were they  talking about? Some sort of animal, an injured one? Or maybe they were the children of a noble, both wanting but afraid to touch a Companion. He would have gotten up to explain that the Companion wouldn't hurt them, and ask why their mother would have been mad for them to touch it, but he couldn't get the energy to.

"Let's go get her." The one he had pegged as the older one said. Footsteps departing accompanied that statement. Allen tried to move but felt very odd. The younger one following quickly behind.

Just then, a yell came from a different direction.

"Girls! Time for lunch!" Allen tried again to open his eyes, but the light penetrating his eyelids was too bright for the headache forming behind his eyes. Overhead birds chirped. Off to his right he was sure that he heard the stamping of hooves and off to the left came the lowing of a cow. Where was he? There were no cows in Companion's Field! What had happened? The last he remembered was sitting under a tree, in the Grove, and playing the song he'd found in the Library. What had the song done?

"Mama! Mama!" The smallest voice was growing softer, following the sound of running feet. "Mama! There's another man in your trees!" The voice carried well, even though the speaker was a bit far away. Allen couldn't help thinking that the child would make a good singer, even if she never got to Bardic. He could hear the woman murmur something and the groans after meant the children had been sent inside. 

This time, it was light footsteps that approached. The steps were placed carefully, tentatively. A loud metal click accompanied the prodding of a toe in the bottom of his boot.

"Whoever you are, you need to get the hell out of here, before I call the sheriff." Allen tried to move again but only a groan escaped his lips. He ached in places he wasn't even familiar with, and his head didn't bear thinking about. "I don't care how drunk you were last night, buddy, get out of here."

Had he been drunk? Was that why he couldn't remember? No, he'd never been drunk, having seen what it had done to too many people, and what those people had done. No, his head hurt like every Companion in Haven had just charged through it, twice, and it was ringing. Yet his stomach wasn't upset. So, what had happened? He tried to speak again, licking his very dry lips. Again, all that escaped was a strangled sort of groan.

"Look, mister, you need to get off my land." The voice was very melodic and musical, and he decided that it was from her that the girl-child had gotten her voice. "Mister?" Now the voice sounded tentative, worried.

When the shadow finally fell over his face, Allen was able to crack open his dry eyes. The only thing he saw was a shadow outlined in a golden halo. "You ok?" She asked him, gently. The words certainly belied her earlier threat. The only thing Allen could do was blink in confusion. .

* * *

  


Maretta looked at the young man, staring up at her with confused eyes. Her first thought was that she had to get him off her farm. But, she didn't smell alcohol, or any thing else to indicate drugs were his problem. He looked very dazed and confused. She sniffed the air again, trying to scent something to give her an idea as to why he was here. Or, maybe, where he had come from.

His clothes told her that he was an oddball to say the least. The only time she'd seen clothes like that was on High days or at the local Ren Faire. The local one was still going on for the next few weeks; maybe he was one of theirs. She didn't know who she could call though. Maybe, she should just call the sheriff and have him deal with it.

Still, the guy didn't seem to be a psycho or anything. Of course she'd said that about her first husband and look where that had gotten her. _Oh well,_she thought, sighing. The local sheriff didn't like her much, anyways. She wasn't going to bother him until it was necessary, and even then he would seem grudging about it.

"Can you stand?" she asked with a heavy sigh. "If yes, I can get you up to the house and take care of you." A brief worry about her daughters crossed her mind. She'd have her dogs sleep with them tonight. The dogs would protect them. She could protect herself. But she didn't like the idea of having another man in the house, not after the last one…

The man at her feet nodded slightly, then winced again. From the looks of things, she wouldn't have to worry about protecting anyone from him. With another sigh and a heave, she put her shoulder under his and helped him to his feet. He made a small protest, when his two packs slid off his shoulder, to rest on the ground. She looked back at them and shook her head.

"I'll send one of the girls to get them, ok? You're not light and I got work to do." She started limping him towards the house. One of the girls jumped up from the table to open the door for them, when they made it that far. A large dog came over to sniff him and growled a bit but left at a word from her.

_A woman with a farm alone?_Allen had certainly heard of such things but it wasn't usual. Of course, most land was farmed communally anyways. He sighed as she laid him down on an oddly extended chair, a soft pillow under his head. It was rather like some of the bed-like chairs, where the Mind-Healers occasionally seated their patients. He wanted to close his eyes again, but the woman fascinated him, as did the room.

Across from him, a small box, with glass in the front, sat under several oblong boxes with lit numbers. He wondered how that was possible. Candles inside of it? Or maybe she was Mage-Gifted? It would explain how she was able to farm so much land alone. But if she was Mage-Gifted, she didn't wear any robes that he recognized. Could that song have Gated him into the Empire, or even further?

In the far corner another box with inset glass sat dark as well. This one sat on top of a desk with many papers strewn about it. Opposite that, there was a small corner with a small table and chairs and what looked to be toys. Had she been some sort of Unaffiliate, and then had to return to her farm to help her parents? It must have been a very rich farm, then, judging from all the glass.

Maretta asked one of her daughters to bring her a glass of water. Hopefully, that would help the man get his voice back. Then he could tell her what he thought he was doing here.

He stared around the house, making her nervous. Was this some sort of ploy, so that he knew what was inside of her house? Was he some sort of thief?_Damned clever one to come up with an idea like this, though not clever enough. But I doubt it. He just looks … lost and confused._

The man took a sip of the water. Judging from his painful expression when he swallowed, his throat was as dry as his lips looked. He swallowed again, then looked at her.

"Where am I?" he asked in a soft tenor, green eyes looking at her in confusion.

The sound of his voice startled her for a moment, and she covered her confusion by getting him to drink more. When she was sure she could talk without stuttering, she answered him. "On my farm. Though how you got here, that I don't know." Behind her, she knew her daughters were watching the stranger curiously.

"Lunch done, already? Then there are chores to be done."

Allen chuckled a bit, as, in universal child fashion, both girls disappeared back into the kitchen. His melodic laugh caused his benefactor to turn her gaze back to him. It was then he noticed her clothes. She wore a type of leggings he didn't recognize. They were almost skin tight and made of some light blue material. Her top was made of a soft looking material, colored in a criss-crossing pattern of different shades of red and black.

Her eyes were an amazing shade of blue, that he had only seen on the few Tayledras around Haven. The hands holding his glass were callused and well worked. Her arms looked strong, like she had always worked for herself.

There was no sign of a husband or mate anywhere. Allen wondered where the man was. If he were a mercenary, it would explain why she was alone. He had to admit though, she looked like she could take care of herself.

From somewhere, beyond the only door to the room, came a high pitched ring that pierced his head, causing him to groan involuntarily again. The woman looked at him sharply and winced in sympathy. "I'll bring you something for your head," she said, standing and dusting off her hands. She left the glass beside him on the floor.

He heard her voice coming from the kitchen again. Assuming she was talking to her daughters again, he relaxed a bit, closing his eyes to block out the light in the room. Soft footsteps made him open them again. Standing in the doorway was the younger child. He smiled gently, hoping to put the child at ease. She crept a bit farther into the room, a finger stuck in her mouth.

Now that he truly saw her, he saw her mother's stamp. She bore the same crystalline blue eyes and soft brown hair. She crept a bit closer, looking at him warily. "My name is Allen. What is yours?" He asked it softly, reaching for his glass. His throat was getting extremely dry again.

The child didn't answer, merely blinking her eyes at him. He kept the soft smile on his face, hoping to encourage the child to talk to him. He sipped at the water, tasting the slight tart taste that had escaped him earlier.

The older child came in, carrying his two satchels, carefully. She looked at her sister and then eased closer to him. "Mister?" She said softly. He allowed his smile to widen. "Mama said you wanted these."

Very carefully, she set the two parcels on his legs.

Allen eased himself up and touched both packs lovingly. They didn't look like they'd been damaged in anyway. He opened the gittern first, checking that his beloved instrument was alright. His fingers quickly ran over it, checking strings and the wood.  The two girls watched him, interested in what he was doing.

From the kitchen, their mother's raised voice could be heard. "Look, I don't care _what_you have to do. Just get the divorce _done_! I am not staying married to that bastard any longer than I have to!"

It bothered Allen that he couldn't hear another voice answering her. The two young girls shared fearful looks and moved away from the doorway, going to sit quietly with their toys. He heard the woman say good-bye and put something down.

A heavy sigh and some banging later and she was back next to him, holding out to white ovals. "These will help."

He looked at them oddly but took them and began to chew. The woman laughed at the awful face he made as whatever she had given him dissolved, leaving a rancid taste in his mouth.

"You're supposed to swallow them whole, not chew them," she said chuckling, handing him his water. He gulped it down trying to wash the taste from his mouth.

"My name is Allen," he told her.

"I am Maretta," she replied. "You're welcome to rest and share dinner with us." She said rising to her feet. "The girls and I have work to finish." With that, she left him alone to rest.

Allen watched her leave, wondering where he was, that such a fiery, gentle woman was all alone.

* * *

  


Maretta took her daughters with her and returned to the outside. Allen unsettled her, more than she cared to admit. That phone call from her lawyer hadn't helped her nerves either. She whistled up her most faithful farm dog, Forge. "Guard," she commanded. While he lay across her door, she led her daughters out to the barn, where chores awaited them.


End file.
